


Star Girl and Rum Boy

by Rosemary3107



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2018-03-27
Packaged: 2019-04-13 12:51:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14112732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosemary3107/pseuds/Rosemary3107
Summary: The Astronomy Tower has little to do with Astronomy. But this fic has a lot to do with angst and stars and Muggle alcohol.





	Star Girl and Rum Boy

_HAZEL_

"Aaaaah! Best game ever!" The portrait hole blasted open, bodies started pouring in – attached limb to limb, their sweat mixing. Seven people of different heights, complexions, genders, sizes lead the way. Permanent smiles were plastered on their faces, cheeks slashing into their glistening eyes like frothing waves on the seashore. Their faces were pink, having been playing in the air for the past 2 hours at 5 degrees Celsius, content with happiness.

One of these seven faces was not only jovial, but also searching. Crinkled eyes behind round glasses incisive in the now-crowded room. A jolt of electricity went down his body as hazel met green. He smiled a bit brighter, and his pupils dilated a bit. The green looked away. The hazel's vision tunneled. All he saw was that bright red hair, and that beautiful pale skin and those forest green eyes. Unfortunately, the one who owned those three things paid no heed to the boy in the dirty Quidditch uniform. Not now, not ever.

A tide of people swam through the Hole and pushed him deeper inside the Common Room. He decided to forget the depressing 'not now, not ever' part, because, really, who's got time for all that?

"And, here's our Captain and star Chaser, James Potter!" bellowed Sirius to the collected crowd near the fire.

He walked up to the center of the circle and glowed in pride. It _had_  been an awesome match – 29 goals for Gryffindor, 5 for Ravenclaw, Marlene had caught the Snitch 2 hours into the match, which isn't so bad, considering the last match had gone on for 9 hours. The party started in full swing, He soon lost track of what was going on, all he remembered seeing was red hair slowly making its way up the Girls' Staircase at the beginning of the celebrations. Then, all hell broke loose.

_GREEN_

She smiled at Marlene, proud of her for the admirable dive she had made before catching the fluttering Snitch. Don't think she hadn't noticed the 25 goals one dark-haired, spectacled boy had made – she had just decided not to acknowledge the fact that she had done. As soon as she locked eyes with the boy in question, she knew she was in trouble. She knew she was in trouble, and so she looked away. She knew she was in trouble so she looked away and didn't notice his lingering gaze. The lingering gaze that was  _so_  telling. It was so telling that old  _Dumbledore_  could sense it from where he was, tucked away in his office. But that didn't mean that  _she_  saw it. No, she didn't. Not now, not ever.

It had been a year. One whole year since that incident near the Breech tree, after the Defence O.W.L. One whole year since she stopped being friends with Snape. One whole year since she gave up all over again.

It had also been 2 years since she had first given up. 2 years since she heard his strained voice say, 'You had a choice and you chose what you wanted.'

That day also marked 3 years since the night of the accident. 3 years since the secret Floo trip to her suddenly empty home. All alone for  _3 whole years._

It's a wonder how all these things happened on the same day, isn't it?

Karma, she thought.

So there she sat, on her four poster bed in the 6th year Girls' Dormitory, wallowing in self-pity, not at the party downstairs because she knows she will inevitably get drunk and ruin everything  _again._ Because that's what Drunk Lily does. She ruins things. Heck, even Normal Lily ruins most things.

"Oh, there you are!" said Mary, walking into the dorm. "I've been looking everywhere for you!"

"Well, you found me," I mumbled, with a faux smile.

"Come on, let's go! They're playing Mugs, and I know how you like Mugs."

"Not really in the mood."

"Oh, come on! It'll be fun! Plus, Alice's got out some Muggle rum, I hear it's great."

"I'd really rather just snuggle in here."

"Fine," Mary huffed, "if that's really what you want, but if Potter starts crying about your quarantine, I'll have to drag you down there myself. Or worse, Sirius will  _somehow_  show up and pull you out. And I really don't like testosterone in this No-Male Haven, so beware."

"I will," she smiled again, closing her eyes, hoping Mary would go away. She heard the door knob open and close. Sighing, peeled her tired eyes open and climbed into the seat at the bay window.

What a perfect picture of angst, she thought. Bloody hell, she'd never imagined she'd be stuck in her dormitory when a wild party was going on not 20 feet below her. A party with  _Muggle rum._ But it had been 3 years, it had been 2 years and it had been a year. So, no, she could sacrifice a night of partying to wallow in self-pity. She hardly ever got the chance to do so on a daily basis. It's a hard opportunity to come by, isn't it? A day devoted to grief. A day for mourning. Mourning for her parents. Mourning for her friendship. Mourning for something a bit more than friendship.

_DARK, BLACK, MESSY_

He was stuck. Stuck between a girl and a wall. The girl was devouring his lips and the wall was digging daggers into his back. Taunting him. Taunting him because he knew what he was doing was stupid. Stupid and impulsive and not what he wanted or _needed_ at all. But he kept at it, anyway. It was his day of grieving too, wasn't it? He was allowed to be cut some slack, too. Sure, he wasn't locking himself up and committing to be sober for the night, but everyone had different methods of grieving – this was his. He had downed at least 2 bottles of Muggle rum because,  _damn,_ it was so good. It felt so  _good._  It felt free. It felt like he would just drown himself in alcohol and it would all go away. Merlin, was he turning into an alcoholic?

Alcohol… alcohol has lasting effects. No, not just the usual coarse throat or the unending headache. Like,  _real_  effects. Real, life-ruining effects. He should know, he's had some experience. Two years… this night two years ago. A fight. A crying, lamenting girl. A love-struck boy, bereft of all sense. Another love-struck boy – Greasy-Haired Git - not quite as infatuated as the first, though. The first boy and the sad girl sat drinking. Muggle rum, ironically. The second boy shows up. Asks the girl to choose, and she chooses.

The wrong one. She chose the  _wrong_  one! He broke her heart. The first one did too, in different ways, though. A grieving girl, chose what she thought would bring her closer to her parents. That one connection to her blessed childhood, not this lonely teenage. That one connection to her warm home, and not the desolate mansion they had now turned into. That one connection to love, to warmth, to comfort. That's why she chose him. Not because she  _liked_  him more, but because he was  _familiar._

And look at him, brooding in silence as he snogged Julia from 5th year. Brooding, because he was too scared to actually do something about his persistent feelings. Brooding, because he knew there were some lingering in her, too. Feelings, that is. Don't think that he didn't feel the holes that burned into his head during exam-time. She was just a few seats behind him, and he knew she used to finish way before time, sure that Kierra or Larry are not doing it.

But, to _act_  is so much more difficult than to  _think._

To  _act,_  he'd have to forgo all his previous prejudices against her. Her complete rejection of him. It was so, so blunt. But, he'd understood. He'd understood and empathized that in _that_  moment, on  _that_  night, Greasy-Haired Git is what she needed. Greasy-Haired Git is what she chose. And Greasy-Haired Git is what she ultimately got. Until, she didn't.

But to  _think,_ he didn't need reason. He didn't need to care. Like right now, he didn't need to care to imagine that  _right now_ , in his arms, it was his Lily, and not Julia from 5th year. That the eyes piercing into his head like daggers are hers, because he's got time left after he finishes writing his exam, too. He could go on wondering about how different things would have been right now if they only hadn't decided to open her secret stash. If only they hadn't told Sirius that they were going to the Astronomy Tower in the Great Hall. If only Snape hadn't been on his way to the Slytherin table and hadn't heard them. If only he hadn't had the guts to actually come confront them. If only she hadn't had a reason to grieve.

But  _thinking_  was all he could do. Because, to  _act_ was terrifying.

_BRIGHT, RED, SMOOTH_

Stars. She could see stars in the sky – from her dorm bay-window seat. White, tiny orbs, across a black background. Millions of miles away, millions of white orbs, shining through the night. You know what she really needed right then? Rum. Muggle rum. The Astronomy Tower. And him. And, of course, the stars.

But, for the rum she'd have to go down. For the Astronomy Tower, she'd have to go down. And, for him, too, she'd have to go down – you know, before overthinking every past decision that she had ever made regarding him, then she'd have to go down. But, the stars were right there. So, for now, she'd settle for the bay-window seat.

She wonders where Petunia is right now, what she's doing, who she's with, what she's thinking, if she's thinking about them, because she  _herself_  is far from that.

Lily Evans is not one for grief. She's never dealt well with it, nor will she ever learn to. This time last year, she'd broken her 6-year best-friendship, and this time the year before last, she'd broken her 3-year best-friendship/a bit more than that. Seeing a pattern here? So, no, she wasn't one for grief, at all.

But, then, she's just a kid. She's only 17 right now and then, she was only 14. She was never  _taught_ how to grieve, she was never told  _not_  to go about the Astronomy Tower drinking Muggle alcohol, she was never  _reprimanded_  for standing against for what she thought was cruel and unjust. So she did all  _that_  and a bit more, and got herself stuck in such a state.

But through all that jazz, the stars remain. They stay right where they are, not caring that some are brighter than others, and that sometimes, their companions change positions. They stay right where they are, making patterns in the sky, healing some wounds here and some there.

Guilty and grief-ridden, she decided to fuck all her vows for the night and just go get sloshed somewhere because really, this sitting there was not going to get her anywhere.

Slowly disentangling her limbs, she got up from the cramped-up place. She put on her robes and a fake smile – one that she had mastered over the years – and all but ran down the stairs.

"Rum," she said into the Common Room, "I need rum." Sounding like a complete alcoholic she walked up to the drink table, grabbed a bottle, turned on her heel and took long, fast strides out of the Portrait Hole. Not paying any heed to the somewhat questioning but mostly amused glance. Not even to the concerned hazel ones in the back of the room.

Her legs led her straight to the Tower. What masochists, she thought. Not dwelling on such thoughts, she sat down against the cold, hard stone, opened the bottle and took a few hearty sips of the intoxicating liquid. She closed her eyes and just let the liquid burn her throat. Butterscotch, vanilla and  _fire._

_TANNED_

Perhaps, he should follow her. Perhaps, the previously mentioned effects of alcohol will drive her to do something stupid. It  _is_  that night. Perhaps, he should grab another bottle and join her. Perhaps, he should quit snogging Julia from 5th year because, again, she is not helping his cause.  _Perhaps,_  he should do those things. But, oh, to  _act._ No, he'd rather just stay here and  _think._

But, what of that, perhaps it is time to _act_  because  _thinking_  has never got him anywhere. He's still the same love-struck boy. She's still the same sad girl. The only difference is that they haven't spoken like they used to in 2 years. 2 years to this day, because he those years were spent those years  _panting_  after her, but not really  _speaking._  And she, well, she just ignored him.

Perhaps, he should go mourn with her. Mourn his dead friendship (a bit more than friendship). Perhaps, he should mourn that the last time they spoke, he taunted her. He taunted her and he tormented her best friend right in front of her. He taunted her and tormented her best friend,  _right_  in front of her, and couldn't even work up the courage to say her first name.

So, that's what he does. He tells Julia from 5th year that he's sorry and he's been a complete arse and that he doesn't know what he's doing, that he has to go. Julia from 5th year, on the other hand, just sighs and says, "It's Lily, isn't it?" He gives her a wide-eyed look, wondering how she knew. "The entire  _school_  knows, everyone knows but you two." So he says that he is sorry again and she says that it's fine and that she enjoyed.

He approaches the drink table, grabs a bottle of Muggle rum and hightails out of the Common Room. Running to where he assumed she would be, he thought,  _acting,_  huh? Perhaps, it'll do him some good. Better than  _thinking,_  anyway.

He opened the old wooden door to the Tower. Looking past the numerous telescopes, he could see a mop of red hair against the edge. His breathing hitched. What was he doing? How could he just show up out of nowhere? After 3 whole years, he had decided to  _finally_  brave through his overthinking brain and  _do_  something. But, what if she didn't need it? What if she'd rather just stay by herself – she's always been the dramatic type. Perhaps, she'd like wallowing in self-pity all by herself.

_No,_  not again, brain. Can't get out of it now.

He slowly approached her. She was sitting cross legged, head against the stone, eyes closed – mumbling. She was mumbling. No, no, wait, she was humming. She was  _humming!_ ABBA, perhaps? What a girl, singing Dancing Queen out in the cold on her day of mourning.  _That_ is what made her special. That is what made her  _her._

_PALE_

"You can dance, you can ji-ive, having the time of your life!" She continued singing. It felt good. It felt amazing. It felt better than she had all day. She drank and she sang and she stared at the black behind her eyelids – heaven.

She'd drowned all her sorrow into rum before, and she's doing it again. She's sang ABBA before, and she's doing it again. She's let the black consume her before, she's letting it happen again.

She could hear footsteps approach her. Slow, loud,  _familiar_  footsteps.

Déjà vu, she thought, smiling.

Still singing with her eyes closed, she took another blind sip of rum and said, "Fancy seeing you here."

"Not exactly  _seeing_  me, are you?"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Feel the beat from the  _tambourine,_  of yeah!"

"How drunk  _are_  you?" He sat down next to her, laughing at her silliness.

"Not as inebriated as you, Rum-Boy."

"Still have the ability to use big words, I see, so not too drunk."

"Nope.  _See_  that girl,  _watch_  that scene, digging the dancing queeeeen."

And they fell silent. But in the silence, they found solitude. And perhaps, that would be enough for now.

_The End_

**Author's Note:**

> What did you think?


End file.
